the wolves have been trapped and relocated

thanks

a throat covered with a bolt of red

Sorrows,
like a gathering of dire wolves,
come in packs.
One or two are still with me.
Others have become scar tissue somewhere in my liver.

(i stole these words too, every single one)

howling at the hollow of everything empty

You've asked us to pray, and that seems right –
that words should be found and given to you.
I can offer you only the bare outline of speech
(...and not before).

(i stole these words, all of them)

2007 new years something-or-other

i seem to have been taking a break from poetry blogging. i think this break is going to continue on for a bit, but i'll be back.

in which i steal somebody else's

thoughts on plagiarism.

picnic

casino beach
parking lot
thursday night

red car
black dog
white teeth

popeye's
dark meat
spicy

zz top
sharp dressed man
j geils band
centerfold

water spouts
thunder
lightning

cra-a-a-a-ck
boom
white
black

picnic

casino beach
parking lot
thursday night

red car
black dog
white teeth

popeye's
dark meat
spicy

zz top
sharp dressed man
j geils band
centerfold

water spouts
thunder
lightning

CRA-A-A-A-CK
BOOM
white
black

directions

cross two narrow and crumbling bridges

they'll hold up

turn left into the weeds
the road is there

directions
for me to get
from my house
to yours

directions
for me to navigate
what little is left
of your life

Sunday is as good a day as any

from your perch
on the bank there
bend down
and brush the snow
from the ice
that holds all of space
between here
and past the stars

cold black empty
and transparent
pricked with sparks

lay your hand softly
there
yes
just there
feel the shiver and gambol
of the stream running
beneath the ice
over sunlit pebbles

lean slowly
into your hand
feel the ice sag
the faint shocks
that travel
through your bones
just before
the glass cracks

the cold slices hot
into your vein

watch the red
running out
to join the stream
running away
under the ice

word verification [a work in progress]

in the ashram
of quiet lawyers
zz top serves caviar
to glamorous kung pao chickens

ask me how i know
about the elk vignette
you bi-fucker, you

lunes martes miercoles
the exegesis begins
from the garbage scow

yet, katy,
that femme commando,
says: are you ok?

no!
help me, kate!


something something something ...
nxgjpvzovuwmawlajepwlacgsemaqbavpuadvaavjnkqntztugiopnlvwxdqiy

Catamaran Fluyt

Caravel Carrack
barques: Yawl ketch Polacca, dhow!
Clipper? Nao, frigate.

word verfication

aqram
tqlaw
zzviar
ghalm
xezwzao
adxme
vntteqlk
uhbifckr
lunss
xvejeetg
bfmscw
yetkata
fmmsdo
csmsefzz
rvnokay
hnepka
nxgjpv
zovuwmaw
lajepwla
cgsem
aqbavpua
dvaavj
nkqntzt
ugiopn
lvwxdqiy

rqvjr
vegpm
bcepi
clctj
wvhxrvc
bbzmvla
zlxsc
fmqzzf



pwotz
mtuyo
hlplmyg
jkqamigb
srlepfmy
qvywvlsn
oowkrbgu
rhnjypqz
ctabuuiq
bkmxdr
pbqnmzqe
qvhlgjk
qsjgzhcy
urhwmf
jfqhjl
coydff
czdfx


tncdspb
mkpeu
xpaxdz
onggrit
zoncthar


ciptza
oyklcq
thggud
gkleht
fmzsvk



ylqmjbc
rqxnxrfc
gxskeklq
rlvkdih


koccozh




"word verifications" collected while commenting at various blogspot blogs
a work in progress ...

street names, a la hai ... ku [bless you]

barcelona street:
there's no south barcelona;
why is there a north?


tarragona street:
the oldtimers will always
call it railroad street


zarragossa street:
one r? two r's? no s's,
only z's? who knows?

[untitled]

scumbled galloping hoofbeats
of a thousand gleaming black steeds
white moonlit foam streams
from a thousand glossy flanks
to the cold hard sand

Dreams for barking dogs

from BotF Poetry Slam, 2-27-2006

raccoons on the roof
the pizza guy at the door
cats rabbits burglars
chasing the prey of his dreams
the sleeping dog barks softly

Song for Kevin Arnovitz

from BotF Poetry Slam, 2-17-2006

Rottweiler puppies
large bumbling clumsy
fierce cute
try out needle sharp teeth
on the table legs
on each other

Persian cats
regal in flowing coats
of tabby and smoke
try out razor sharp claws
on the upholstery
on each other

puppies get hookworms
leaving bloody diarrhea
on the Bokharas

cats get hairballs
vomiting them up
into your shoes

small but inconvenient
facts of life
bearable because

the puppies
will grow into
imposing companions loyal guardians
in gleaming armor of black and tan
and ivory teeth

the cats
will grow old
purring contentedly into your dreams
napping in your lap in the recliner
by the fire

except for those misfits
who rip the faces
off small children
or whose faces
are too pushed in
to permit proper breathing

the caretaker
the one who wears the red and white S
must be
the Job who splits babies
the Solomon who suffers boils

kevinarno
will be
turning over the keys
to the Houses of Persia and Rottweil
moving out moving on
to observe and chronicle another nature
red in tooth and claw
surely a more civilized pursuit

Time to go

from BotF Poetry Slam, 2-2-2006

You might be leaving, but I've already gone.
I've looked back, tried to prove my history.
Now I'm standing at the foot of bridge one.

Mapped my life to the streets of Konigsberg
With all the bridges washed out to sea.
You might be leaving, but I've already gone.

Filled out the forms, the applications
To become someone else's employee
Been looking for new bridges to build.

Thought at first that I'd only lost to Ivan
But there were more: Wilma ... Katrina ... Charley ...
I'd show you, but the businesses are all gone.

How do I prove the work that I've done,
The network analysis, the modeling,
When I can't even find past employer one?

No Red Prince or Blue Prince or Bishop
Can ride out from Schloss or Kirche to save me.
I would be leaving, but I've already gone.
How do you cross bridges when there are none?

Descente aux enfers

Dancing is all about architecture
Pondering this, the decent ox infers
That the decrepit awks in furs
First got permission from the prefecture

They started off with a lecture
Demonstrating that lox incurs
The same penalties as socks in verse
Or at least, that was their main conjecture

When you arrive at the dance
Coming from Hakushu, Japan
Remember, they got there in VANS
For all the underworld's a mountan stage
Go forth without socks, be of good courage
Dance barefoot, leave your shoes at the edge

Flying Is Hungry Work

I fall asleep
sheltered from the cold
by sunwarmed manmade rocks
on the shores of Hawkshaw Lagoon
and become a pelican

The wind tugs at my muscles
tickles my fingers
twists my feathers
lifts me up

familiar landmarks
Gussie's Record Shop
Dwarf Drive-In
Three Mile Bridge

faraway places
Pyramids of Giza
Great Wall of China
Long Bridge into Ceske Budejovice

Losing interest in the works of men
I fasten my hopes for lunch
onto the black dots below the surface
of a bright green sea

Thanksgiving falls on November 25 in 1943

It is a city of men
From Tristan De Luna to Leroy Boyd

I skulk between the library shelves
where the books speak to me of women
women who are famous or not at all
women who matter greatly or not at all

I find an old forgotten letter, tucked in a book
[a woman wrote it to a sailor, news from home]

It is a time to make bandages and elect junior class presidents
It is a time of Negro soldiers from the North who are fine musicians
It is a time for cute high school girls falling for cute navy ensigns
The unwed mother picking up her baby after school is not particularly cute

These things matter greatly or not at all

ozone

heed the lightning flash
breathe out the grumbling thunder
read the trains

a cento of sorts [and a work in progress]

I was born in a small town
got tired of feelin lonesome ornery and mean

and it's up against the wall redneck mother
and ransom captive israel

I say black you say white
damn the dark damn the lie

but there's booze in the blender
that mourns in lonely exile here

gonna die in a small town
some people say there's a woman to blame

Gun Tamga

Przewalski's elk
never impatient
never wicked or powerful
or ugly or wooden or zebraic
never at work with komodos
and never with dessicated crops
never magic nor serious
possesing only two prerogatives

Meteor spit
Wolfhounds by midnight
to never again walk on
It costs what it costs


the above is a "translation" [which is something like babelfishing, but without the help of a computer] of part of the poem Atlantyda, by Wislawa Szymborska

Tracks

I have fallen for you

I have fallen from the railroad trestle
onto 17th Avenue

Anonimo stares down at me
from his grafitti-laden wall

as the speeding cars splatter my brains
and shatter my bones

on their way to the beach
on their way home

But that was tomorrow

driving a fire engine red car
to the neon red sun
driving around the fort at 20
spinning around the core at 900
flying around the star at 13000

I have lost the race

Is there a cure for Elephantiasis?

I can get out of you , Bob
the fool scapped
fertile period
cockroaches in your ass
And candles and flaming
pie & hives
for farts
Two are small & brown & fat.
In the quivering / places of slaves
In a pastel portrait / of hairs and days
A couch is but an imprimatur
Put on your cloaks and
the women will be the boys
and shout a dead bear will roll





All lines, including the title, are from Bernadette Mayer's chapbook Ceremony Latin (1964)

blue heron haiku

poised like nijinsky
blue like the sides of horses
fieldstone with an eye


ted berrigan the sonnets (don't remember which sonnet)
lyn heijinian, jack collom sunflower
galway kinnell the gray heron